


Resilience

by flights_of_fancy



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Family, Fluff and Angst, Mentions of Death, One Shot, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 10:06:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17486138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flights_of_fancy/pseuds/flights_of_fancy
Summary: Another sleepless night leaves Klaus reflecting on the past and what it means for his little family.





	Resilience

Klaus was no stranger to nightmares. After everything he had been through, he knew what it was like to wake up in a cold sweat. To nervously peek out the window, fearing a shadowy figure was waiting to take his family away. Sometimes, he would scream, and Violet would rush into the room. Other times, he would cry. 

On this night, he was silent and he didn’t shed a tear, but a deep sense of dread stirred inside him. For a while, his drowsy eyes never left the window. After taking a few deep, steady breaths, he sunk back into bed. He tossed and turned, throwing aside a pillow or two in his discomfort. At times like this, his mind raced with memories and questions he would never know the answers to. He was alone with his regrets. It was the stillness of the night that hurt him more than any nightmare.

“You’ve been through much worse.” Klaus muttered, almost reprimanding himself. He felt the rasp in his voice as he spoke, realized how dry his throat had become, and, after a brief debate with himself, decided he needed some water. With a sigh, he plucked his glasses from the nightstand and rose from his bed. 

He plodded through the hallway, his head hanging low. Out of the corner of his eye, Klaus saw Violet’s door wide open, the room dark. He was hardly surprised. Most nights, she was out late, working. Although Klaus admitted it was later than usual, Violet coming home after midnight wasn't unheard of at the Baudelaire household. Despite their parent’s fortune, she insisted on making a name for herself through honest and diligent work. It wasn't the help of an established system or the promises of others that saved them from Count Olaf’s schemes, and Violet would never let them forget that. 

Klaus glanced down as he felt something flaky and crisp brush on his bare feet. Dried up flower petals. He noticed a small trail of them leading down the stairs, to the front room. To the trash bin, he assumed. Nowadays, Klaus felt like their doorstep was bombarded with young men and women offering Violet extravagant bouquets and poorly written love poems. He wondered how many of them were genuinely attracted to her and how many were attracted only to her wealth. He shuddered at the thought of someone marrying her solely for that reason.

Every encounter ended with Violet explaining that she had her work and family to focus on. Most admirers would throw their gifts at her feet and stomp away, grumbling about what a “haughty rich lunatic” she was. Some persisted, believing that she would be eventually swayed by their off-key serenades. On rare occasions, there were a few kind, smitten souls that would come to their doorstep; she humored them but not for long. The twinkle in her eyes would fade when she had to turn them down.

“Work and family first,” he would hear his sister recite to herself, long after her admirers were gone. Although he knew romance didn’t define her, he wondered if there would ever be time in her life for such pursuits. Then again, Klaus came to realize that Violet couldn’t even find time for friends- something that was much easier before their parent’s passing. He could tell it had something to do with why she went completely silent whenever a Quagmire was mentioned. 

He passed by Sunny and Beatrice’s room, expecting to hear stifled giggles and light chatter. Even though he tucked them in hours before, he was used to them rebelling against their bedtime- snacking on homemade pastries that Sunny would sneak into their room or playing card games in a pillow fort. He listened closely, only to discover silence on the other side of the wall. Klaus remembered how earlier that evening, while Sunny was trying a new casserole recipe for dinner, she was also fretting about a test the next day. Her first test of the first grade. She needed all the rest she could get.

It reminded him of their time at Prufrock- he and Violet struggling to keep up with the rigorous courses, Sunny challenged by Nero’s overbearing demands. Her test the next day seemed like small potatoes compared to trying to survive at the academy. Hell, compared to surviving anything that Olaf had put them through in general. But Sunny probably didn't think about it the same way he did.

Klaus could close his eyes and he would be back at Lucky Smells or Caligari or the Queequeg. He could still vividly imagine the world around him and how strongly he felt in the moment. Sunny, on the other hand, relied on vague memories and the stories of her siblings. He was never sure how much of it she saw as reality and how much of it she saw as only a bad dream. 

He was down the stairs headed towards the kitchen when a dim light in the parlor seemed to call to him. Maybe Violet got out of work early?

Entering the living room, he was surprised to see Beatrice, asleep on the sofa, faintly illuminated by the table lamp at her side. On the table in front of her, there was a small plate of cake crumbs and an open folder with loose scraps of paper sticking out, her messy handwriting scrawled all over.

BETRIC BOD ILAI R  
BETATI CE BUADLA IR E  
BE TRI CE B AU DELAI R 

A small, colorful chapter book rested on her lap like a tent. Klaus picked it up, skimming over the page she left on. Page 14. He smiled, setting the book down on the table.

Beatrice had come home crying a few weeks ago, distressed by how difficult reading and writing could be. How letters and words seemed to mix and blend together. With her love of hearing stories and listening to poetry, she was afraid she would never be able to connect with the text she was so passionate about. 

Klaus was relieved that she eventually came to see it as an exciting new challenge, not a burden. She wouldn’t quit until she was just as capable as her peers. He had offered to help her in her new mission, but it appeared that Beatrice made her own lesson plans without him- carrying it out in the dead of night so no one could find her. Maybe she was hoping to surprise her family by reading a few chapters aloud to them one day. No doubt to impress them- prove to them what a bold and smart little girl she was. But there was no need for that. They already knew. 

Klaus chuckled lightly at how their brave and smart little girl made the mistake of “hiding” in the parlor, out in the open. And how she made the mistake of closing her weary eyes to rest “just for a minute”. 

He thoughtfully glanced back at the papers and the book on the table. There was still work to be done, that much Klaus could see, but she’s come far. He guaranteed that, with the time and effort she was putting, she would be just as good- no, better- than most readers and writers her age.

“Come on.” He softly cooed, lifting her up from the settee, “It’s time for bed.” 

Carrying her was getting harder, and realizing this, Klaus felt a twinge of sadness. Beatrice wasn't the baby that Kit placed in his arms years ago. She was a young girl now, and with every passing day, she seemed to resemble her mother more and more, both in her actions and appearance. 

But Klaus couldn’t ignore their clear differences. The one that struck him the most was a familiar, fiery look in her eyes that was absent in her mother’s. 

Kit made it so clear that Dewey was her baby’s father, but some days, Klaus’ stubborn, imaginative mind thought otherwise. Although they never truly spoke about it, he knew that Violet had her own suspicions.

Klaus often recalled the day of Olaf’s death, Beatrice’s birthday. The gentle kiss he gave Kit. The way he tenderly rested his hand on her swollen belly. How they gazed into each other’s eyes. How they recited poetry together. Those small interactions planted ideas that Klaus wished he could expunge from his mind. 

“Man hands on misery to man.” He mused, slowly climbing up the stairs. He peered down at the sleeping girl in his arms and thought of Olaf lying on the coastal shelf. Even though he watched the villain succumb to his injuries, Klaus feared it to be one last trick. It seemed almost impossible that the man that had caused them so much misery in less than a year could be gone in mere minutes. He imagined the Count would be up and ready to strike when he found the right moment, but that moment never came. He sometimes wondered if the girl he carried would be capable of delivering that strike.

Klaus sighed. As if Olaf could continue to terrorize them beyond the grave by virtue of being Beatrice’s father.

His faults would not be hers, Klaus reminded himself. After all, should he be held responsible for the poison darts fired at the Count’s parents? Should Sunny or Violet atone for want of a Sugar Bowl?

Beatrice wasn’t the one who tormented them for months on end- kidnapping their friends and murdering their guardians. She was the little girl who would tie her hair up in ribbons and insist on going to work with Violet. The girl who woke up early to bake cupcakes with Sunny and stayed up late listening to Klaus’ stories. 

Much like the people that raised her, she was a product of her own choices. It didn't matter if she were a Denouement or a Count's daughter. If she were the new Duchess of Winnipeg or Mr. Poe's long lost second cousin. At the end of the day, she was Beatrice, and Klaus loved her all the same.

Finally reaching his destination, Klaus carefully opened the bedroom door, hoping its creaking didn’t wake Sunny. Her school journal and chewed up pencil rested on her nightstand, a reading and arithmetic workbook set beside it. Seeing the spine marked with heavy creases, he was proud of his sister’s commitment to studying, but he made the mental note to give her a lecture on proper book etiquette in the morning. The floor surrounding her bed was covered with cookbooks, all opened to recipes that the Baudelaires would no doubt be trying in the upcoming weeks. It all reminded Klaus of his own room when he was her age. Before the fire, when life was simple.

He glanced down at her bed to see her sound asleep. Klaus could easily imagine her dream being simple and sweet, like having tea with the littlest elf or passing the times table portion of her test. Not a nightmare of a man with tattoo of an “eye” on his left ankle. Sunny looked at peace, and, in that moment, Klaus believed she was. He knew that she was. 

He crept to Beatrice’s bed on the other side of the room and set her down gently. “Goodnight.” He draped a blanket over her, brushing stray locks of hair out of her face, “I love you, Beatrice.”

As he turned to leave, he heard a small voice from behind him. “I love you too, Klaus.” 

He was glad that he was practically out the door before Beatrice could see him wipe a tear away.

Exiting the room, a portrait that hung on the wall across from him caught his attention. It was the four Baudelaires on a sunny day at the park, all of them beaming proudly at the camera. The first time they were able to enjoy themselves as a family after leaving the island.

Klaus’ train of thought was interrupted when he heard scraping at the front door’s lock followed shortly by a click. He peeked over the banister to see Violet coming into the front room, trying her best to quietly close the door behind her. Klaus shook his head in amusement as she tucked two bent pins back into her ribbon-tied hair. She forgot her key again, but, as always, she found her way around it. 

“They’re sleeping.” He said as he watched her tip toe towards Sunny and Beatrice’s room the instant she was upstairs. 

She sighed, wistfully resting a hand on the doorknob, her back towards Klaus. “I didn’t realize the time.”

“It’s okay, Violet.” His voice was barely a whisper. “They’re alright.” Taking a deep breath, Violet pulled away from the door. Her tense shoulders relaxed, and she turned to her brother, giving him a small, thankful nod. “Busy day at the workshop?” Klaus asked in attempt to lighten the mood.

“Well, yes, at first.” She paused, considering what she told him next, “But after we had a breakthrough, some of us went out for celebratory root beer floats. Morgan walked me home. A scenic route.” 

“A breakthrough?” He lit up with genuine curiosity. “Morgan?” 

Violet smiled, and, for the first time, Klaus noticed the small purple flower she absentmindedly twirled between her fingers. “Two very long stories.” She yawned, “For tomorrow morning.” She tugged the ribbon in her hair, removing it in a fluid motion. “It’s late, and you need sleep, too, Klaus.” Though he saw in her face how worn she was from a day of hard labor, he swore there was a light skip in her step as she retreated into her room.

He lingered in the hallway for a while after she left, his eyes fixed on the portrait across from him. Klaus took in every detail, letting all his thoughts settle with him. When he was finally ready to return to bed, their smiles on that beautiful day were etched into his mind. 

He had promised Kit that her daughter would never be alone. She wouldn't be. Neither would Sunny. Neither would Violet. And neither would he.

They had all been in the same boat, literally and figuratively speaking. They’ve been through a series of truly unfortunate events. Their past was complicated. Their past was painful. There were still mysteries they had to solve. But, despite the confusion, sorrow, and uncertainty of yesterday, he felt confident that they had a future waiting for them. He knew tomorrow he would wake to the smell of Sunny’s delicious pancakes and the sound of Violet showing off a new invention to a bright and curious Beatrice. 

With his family in his heart and his mind at ease, Klaus allowed himself a good night’s rest.

**Author's Note:**

> Let’s pretend that the Baudelaires lived (mostly) normal lives in a nice house with a reasonable amount of money, and Lemony had no idea for some reason!  
> I just wanted to write Klaus with little Bea, but the Baudelaires are a package deal so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯. I used a mix of show and book canon (and some headcanons whoops)


End file.
